


(Temporary) Queen Of The Universe

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Adventure, Alien Culture, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Episode Related, F/M, Friendship/Love, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara doesn't want to rule a thousand worlds, but she does want to visit them. Porridge gladly agrees to host her for a holiday. He and Clara have a whole raft of adventures together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Includes some dialogue from the last scene of the Eleventh Doctor episode 'Nightmare In Silver' and continues on from the end of that episode.

 

 

“You, stay out of it. This is between me and the Emperor.”

 

 

The Doctor, amazingly, actually backed off and Clare was faced with Porridge, eager and kind and with the weight of a thousand galaxies on his shoulders. A thousand galaxies...Clare tried to imagining millions of different planets, all those unique worlds. She thought about her travel book, the one with her age tapering down the front. She rubbed a finger against her Mum's ring.

 

 

“Porridge, I don't want to rule a thousand galaxies.”

 

 

His face fell, filled with understanding and resignation. Clara's mind was still stuck on travel, which led her to her arrangement with the Doctor and all those galaxies and when would she ever have this opportunity again? Well, he did have a time machine…

 

 

“But I'd like to visit some, if that's okay?”

 

 

The Doctor jerked around, shocked, and Angie crowed that Clara definitely had the right idea, Queen of the universe! Clara smiled at Porridge's expression; he looked a little blown away.

 

 

“It's not permanent; I just…I want to travel and you've got a thousand galaxies at your disposal...” Clara smiled before sitting up a little straighter. “On the condition that I can leave whenever I want.”

 

 

Porridge was looking at her in wonder and his smile was blinding. It made Clara want to smile too. “You have my word as Emperor.”

 

 

Clara wrinkled her nose. “I'd rather have your word as Porridge.”

 

 

If it was possible, Porridge's smile widened. "All right then, my word as Porridge."

 

 

They shook hands firmly and Clara turned back to Angie and Artie. God, she'd have to find someone to take over her job for a few months. Angie rolled her eyes, clearly reading Clara's worry.

 

 

“There's agencies, Clara. Queen of the universe!”

 

 

Clara shook her head, already mentally compiling a list of people who might be able to help out. “And don't you forget it. I'm taking a holiday; you're not getting rid of me that easily.”

 

 

Artie looked happy about that and something tugged at the corner of Angie's mouth to suggest that she wasn't unhappy about it either. Clara turned back to the Doctor who looked like he was suppressing a lot of words. She held out her phone expectantly.

 

 

He crossed his arms, as petulant as Angie. Clara waggled the phone at him. “Come on...You do want to see me again, don't you?”

 

 

The Doctor glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before darting over to snatch the phone and input a number. “The TARDIS is not a taxi service.”

 

 

Clara cocked her head as though thinking about it. “Yeah, that would be ridiculous. You do it for free, after all.”

 

 

The Doctor made an outraged noise and was distracted enough for Clara to retrieve her phone from his grasp and check that, yes, he'd actually put a number in. A number for the TARDIS taxi. A lick of excitement threaded through her. Clara Oswald was going travelling, on her own terms.

 

 

“Answer when I call,” she told him severely, pointing the phone in his direction. “I don't care what you're running from, you answer. Now then, paper.”

 

 

The Doctor looked flummoxed. “Paper...?”

 

 

“I can't leave Angie and Artie without any mature supervision, and you definitely don't count. Paper.”

 

 

The Doctor handed over a sheet of something and a stubby pencil, which Clara used to scribble down several numbers – people in the area who she knew had decent nanny experience and the right sort of attitude, and a couple of agencies that she'd considered joining. Angie took the paper with bad grace but hugged Clara, Artie hugging her with more enthusiasm. Clara closed her eyes, a break would be good, for all of them, but she was going to miss the kids.

 

 

As Angie and Artie rushed off towards the TARDIS, a couple of guards willing to keep them company, the Doctor loitered awkwardly. Clara smiled.

 

 

“Save me a seat in the space taxi.”

 

 

The Doctor pouted and looked as though he was trying to think of a way to bodily get her into the TARDIS, but looking at her expression, seemed to think better of it before patting her on the shoulder instead.

 

 

“Yes, well, a holiday’s always fun, isn’t it? I mean, I think so; mine are always full of people telling me I’m stepping on the wrong grass or wanting me to take a look at a lot of prisons. Really, I can’t think why that keeps happening.”

 

 

Clara raised an eyebrow. It would be nice to have a holiday where running for your life wasn’t on the menu. The Doctor patted her other shoulder, then shoved his hands in his pockets.

 

 

“Yes, so, call anytime. Oh! I don’t get any reception in the Cordan Quadrant. But you can leave a message and ah ha! There, even if I don’t answer, press the star and hash keys together and the TARDIS will lock onto you and get me there quickly. She does like her strays.”

 

 

“Oh, well, that explains a lot.”

 

 

Clara shot him a pointed look, which the Doctor returned with a twist of a peeved mouth before taking a few steps towards the doorway. He looked worried and restless and…something else that was always present in his expression whenever he looked at Clara. It’d be nice to have a break from that too.

 

 

“Doctor, I’ll be fine.” There was slightly nervous excitement gusting through her, but she shrugged a shoulder and twitched her head towards Porridge. “I’m with the Emperor.”

 

 

*

 

 

“Can we talk privately, Porridge? Only there’s something you should probably know before we get home to your…palace?”

 

 

“Of course, here. We’re in a soundproof bubble now; it extends over my seat and plinth. Don’t worry, they’re used to it. They’re just glad I haven’t run away again. Are you okay? Not regretting anything?”

 

 

“No regrets yet, and if I have any, you’ll be the first to know. It’s just that…well, you know the Doctor’s box? The one he travels in? It doesn’t just travel in space…”

 

 

“…It didn’t look advanced enough to have a dimension jump…”

 

 

“Can’t help you there. It’s more of a _time_ issue. So, I’m really not going to have a clue about how to address people or what not to eat, so could you give me some tips? So that I don’t embarrass you during your big return?”

 

 

*

 

 

Porridge was very understanding. He got immediately why Clara wanted to keep her time issue secret – even in his era, time travel was something very carefully meted out because of all the possible paradoxes - so he spent the rest of the journey explaining a little about how to act so that she wouldn’t get into trouble. It sounded simple enough and since Porridge himself spent most of his time trying to escape his duties, Clara suspected that she might have a little leeway.

 

 

“Should I change?” she wondered aloud, turning to Porridge with a sudden start. “I mean, is this okay for wherever we’re going?”

 

 

Porridge smiled. “You look lovely, but if you like there’s a bathroom a few rooms over. Gloria can show you, can’t you, Gloria?”

 

 

Gloria left her station with a nod and showed Clara how to use the strange air-water showers and how to properly manipulate the fresh clothes stored there. It wasn’t camouflage like the soldiers or the dark armour that Gloria herself wore. Instead, there was a dark silk thing, sort of like a dress, but there were trousers involved too. It was very comfortable despite being fitted and was covered in strange little symbols around the edge. It made her stand up a little straighter. It made her look like she belonged on the ship.

 

 

She tucked her other clothes into a bag and fastened her hair up. Her reflection grinned giddily back at her. She was going to visit a space Emperor’s palace. All right then.

 

 

*

 

 

There were a lot of people waiting to see Porridge – who’d refused to change into more regal clothing, though he had taken his hat off to reveal scruffy golden-brown hair. Clara grinned at him as they were about to be transmatted down. He was already stiffening up in preparation for becoming the Emperor once more. She could see the resignation in his eyes, so she nudged him gently.

 

 

“You’re not alone, Porridge.”

 

 

His eyes were full of gratitude, even as he lifted his chin. “Thank you, Clara.”

 

 

Once they were beamed down, the crowds cheered and Clara might have waved a little. Wow, that was a lot of people! And was that a couple of suns just above the horizon?! It was an amazing rainbow of colours too, except for the small group right at the front on a raised platform. They all wore dark colours like the staff on the ship. Clara glanced at them carefully; most of them looked pretty serious. She could already see why Porridge might want to keep having a holiday.

 

 

Porridge was greeting the group now, accepting their bows before gesturing to Clara. “This is Clara Oswald, friend and advisor. She’ll be by my side for several cycles and under my protection. Make it known.”

 

 

Clara smiled a little at the group, very aware of the gold commander’s badge pinned to her dress. She’d wondered if it was right to wear it but Porridge had insisted that she’d earned it. She was glad to be wearing it when facing those penetrative gazes.

 

 

“Clara?” Porridge was holding out a hand to her. “Time for dinner, I think.”

 

 

The group were making noises about all the important decisions that the Emperor needed to make now that he was back. Clara envisioned piles of paperwork – the downside to being Emperor, all those decisions. Her stomach rumbled, just a little bit.

 

 

Porridge definitely had the right idea. “Dinner it is,” she agreed, taking his hand. His grip was cool and firm.

 

 

*

 

 

Dinner turned out to be some sort of meat in sauce that tasted really good. Porridge explained to her in an undertone how to get the wing free and scrape the meat off. He winked at her when she finally got her first wing right after her third attempt and he didn’t miss a beat of the political conversation. He might not have enjoyed life as Emperor, but he was clearly good at it.

 

 

Clara smiled to herself and tried the wine. Porridge had warned her that it could be pretty potent, depending on what vintage was served. After several sips, it was already making her head feel a bit spinny. Meanwhile Porridge raised an issue that he and Clara had worked on while hurtling towards his home. Porridge was going to take a tour of some of the worlds he ruled over. He hadn’t done so for a while, and yes, he’d take guards with him, he’d always be contactable for any matters of state and wouldn’t his subjects be pleased to see him, since the stories surrounding his disappearance were so wild?

 

 

One of his council, a thin reedy man with ash-blonde hair that curled over his forehead, was looking at Clara very thoroughly. Clara felt her skin prickle in response. She very pointedly didn’t look at him for the rest of the meal; otherwise she might have thrown something.

 

 

Porridge personally escorted her to her guest quarters; they were next door to his and were the same pale gold as his pyramid-like seat on the spaceship. It was only a little over the top and the bed was massive and comfy. Porridge pointed out the personal data screen – for Clara to catch up on any news – and made sure she knew that security were on hand to help her at any moment. His gaze lingered on the shiny little bauble embedded in the wall as part of a swishy expansive design. A camera? Clara was definitely changing under the covers.

 

 

“Thank you, sir,” she briefly but sharply saluted him, a grin playing with her lips. “You’ve been very kind.”

 

 

She didn’t say that the whole ‘camera in the bedroom’ was not only creepy but more than a little pervy. It’d be a bad idea to say that when you were actually on camera, but yeah, it was a conversation that they were definitely going to have later when privacy was actually possible. Porridge nodded.

 

 

“I’ll have Gloria raise you for breakfast,” was what he exited with.

 

 

Clara briefly considered covering the camera, but then that was pretty much textbook suspicious behaviour and who was to say that that was the only one? The staff had probably been very busy in the Emperor’s absence. Instead, she rifled through her bag of clothes which somebody had kindly delivered and let down her hair.

 

 

Determinedly turning her back on the camera, Clara worked out how to use the data screen and flicked through stories about the Emperor’s return and his ‘intriguing escort.’ God, the twenty-four hours news cycle had survived clearly. Shoving those stories away, Clara focused on learning more about the planet Porridge lived on. She wanted to have an idea of what she was dealing with.

 

 

She read well into the night and looked out of the window to see a vista of stars. She wondered which one was home.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Breakfast consisted of crescent-shaped rolls and a warm spicy drink that made Clara feel a lot more awake. Porridge was dressed in something smarter now, hard-wearing dark blue fabric that was almost cut like a suit, with a symbol on the chest pocket. When he smiled at her, he was all Porridge though. It made something settle behind Clara’s heart, and she smiled back.

 

 

“So, ready for your next step into a thousand galaxies?” Porridge asked her, confiding and full of mischief and yet still with an innate stateliness that made Clara feel a little bit in awe until she reminded herself that this was the man who’d served everybody a cup of something like sloppy beans during a Cyberman invasion, more like a dinner lady than an Emperor.

 

 

“Let's find out.”

 

 

*

 

 

Clara ate a lot of different foods. She had something like chips that she dipped in something like strawberry milkshake. She persuaded Porridge to try it too and laughed at the look on his face and nudged him when he told her that she was right – it _was_ weirdly delicious. It was good to see him smiling again. Anyone who held as much power as Porridge should smile more often. That was a mission that Clara could get behind.

 

 

There was the planet where a whole market was dedicated to different blends of tea. Clara watched as someone with translucent green skin demonstrated how the leaves were picked and crushed. She chose a box of something orange for the Doctor.

 

 

There were shoals of fish that darted between her feet on a planet of water and boats. People lived underwater and in buildings on stilts with incredible bridges and complicated ropes slung between them. Clara bent down to look at the fish, her bare feet creating ripples across the surface of the world.

 

 

“What’s your name?” she wondered aloud as a group of deep red fish slipped past.

 

 

“Dinner,” said Porridge, from a nearby water-skimming craft.

 

 

He was smiling up into the sun and Clara straightened out a little, unable to completely squash her own smile in response. “Uh huh. So talking to your dinner is pretty normal here.”

 

 

“It is. Sometimes they make up songs about it.”

 

 

The fish were caught and seasoned and roasted on sticks over a huge open fire in one of the buildings above water level. Clara burned her fingers trying to peel the skin off, causing a friendly staff member to ask if she wanted to have it crisped up for her. Clara turned to Porridge, a question on her face; did she want to have the fish skin crisped up for her?

 

 

“Tasty and harmless,” he assured her.

 

 

He gestured and a couple of small black bowls were placed on the table, filled with crispy shredded fish skin. Porridge had been right, it _was_ tasty. It was his turn to nudge her.

 

 

*

 

 

There were dances and sports and meetings that Clara couldn’t entirely understand – the language was different and every gesture meant something. There was so much to see, and she saw it all with Porridge.

 

 

“You’re not hiding from your Emperor duties, are you?” she asked as someone draped a seedpod necklace around her neck.

 

 

“No, these _are_ Emperor duties - visiting worlds I haven’t seen in too-long, reminding people that they’ve actually got an Emperor, and going through all the decisions in-between.”

 

 

He sounded a little tired. Someone, a man (Clara was pretty sure it was a man, but she wasn’t going to ask. That seemed really rude), was nodding towards Clara and saying something to Porridge in a chittering sort of language, like grasshoppers. It sounded almost musical, and it made Clara smile. She wondered if there was any way that she could learn it.

 

 

Once the man had moved away, with a final dipping nod, Clara asked quietly “What was that about?”

 

 

Porridge answered just as quietly. “He was wondering if you belonged to me.”

 

 

Oh. That never stopped being weird. Clara had met prostitutes, consorts, concubines, and multiple wives. She’d met dukes, priestesses, judges, and pro-consuls too. Sometimes, she preferred the former to the latter.

 

 

“What did you tell him?” she asked, accepting a sweet-smelling flower with a smile before threading it behind her ear.

 

 

Porridge’s smile was small but his eyes were filled with a great deal. “I said I belonged to you.”

 

 

_Oh._

 

 

Right. Clara’s eyes widened and she numbly handed him a blue flower in bud that smelled like springtime after the rain. Her stomach felt a little unstable and she tried to smile, but it went all wobbly and Porridge covered her hand with his. He didn’t look angry.

 

 

She could read him well-enough by now. He wasn’t going to push or command or insist on anything. That wasn’t Porridge’s style, and it made something warm up inside Clara to be so sure of that. He was a good Emperor, and a wonderful friend and that was okay.

 

 

*

 

 

Porridge’s council weren’t always happy that Clara sat in on so many meetings. She didn’t interrupt or add anything; she just liked knowing what it was that Porridge had run away from. She could understand it – there were so many decisions for him to make, so many lives he held in the palm of his hand, and his council always expected him to look good for his public and to be everything they wanted him to be. Clara was a fly in their ointment, an element that couldn't be controlled, and they didn’t like that.

 

 

She imagined that the Doctor would and it made her smile widely, council members looking her way with particularly calculating gazes.

 

 

She wasn’t stupid though, she didn’t say anything to anybody about where her home was, only volunteering that it was a long way from the Capital and that she missed her friends and family. She told the truth, because if you got caught in a lie, that always made things worse. She didn't have the Doctor's psychic paper. She had Porridge and her instincts and an increasingly incredible range of travel experiences. Things could be a lot worse.

 

 

*

 

 

Clara tucked her feet up underneath her as a gentle tune was played on a sort of stringed instrument – like a mandolin, sort of, only bigger and a different shape. She often spent evenings like this, sat by Porridge as he worked through some electronic equivalent of paperwork. He was teaching her the symbol coding that they used for a shorthand, she was sort of getting it. She wondered if the Doctor knew this coding language, or if the TARDIS just translated everything for him. He was missing out.

 

 

“Lady Clara.” It was the fair-haired man from the council again. Clara managed not to frown. “Your lengthy visit with us has been educational?”

 

 

Translation – God, you've been here a long time. When are you going home? Clara smiled hard, she couldn't help it; he wasn't the first council member to ask that kind of question. It was difficult to enjoy a holiday when someone was so frequently looming with such creeping disapproval.

 

 

“It has, I can't wait to learn more,” she replied. “But don't worry; I won't be staying much longer.”

 

 

The council member looked insultingly relieved. Porridge was grinning into his handheld screen. Clara playfully narrowed her eyes at him.

 

 

“Trying to get rid of me?”

 

 

His grin softened round the edges. “Of course. I'm that sort of Emperor, very underhanded.”

 

 

“I've always thought so.”

 

 

The council member did not look pleased at the conversation. Porridge waved a hand at him. “A joke, Josiah. I don't believe jokes have been outlawed yet, have they?”

 

 

“No, Your Majesty. I just think the tone could lead people to think that...”

 

 

“That I have a sense of humour?” Porridge flicked a pointed look at his councilman. “I'm sure any number of people would be pleased to hear that I've retained one, in this job.”

 

 

The councilman's expression was arch and Clara laughed quietly to herself, dipping her head towards her own screen. She'd been reading up on the last world they'd visited – there'd been fights of some kind, trials by combat, and it had reminded her of the medieval courts that she'd learned about at school so she'd been researching the roots of the trials.

 

 

There was a nudge in her ribs, Porridge again, wearing the sort of smile that she loved. “Trying to get rid of me?”

 

 

Clara pulled her expression into something mischievously serious. “Oh yes, I'm that sort of girl.”

 

 

*

 

 

There were times though, that were nothing to do with the council, when travelling was difficult. It wasn’t Porridge’s fault exactly, it was just that some worlds were _very_ different and Clara expected that, she just didn’t expect to hate some of what she saw too.

 

 

On one world, there’d been people forced to work in unsafe mines, with barely any time to breathe let alone sleep. Porridge had put a stop to that pretty immediately; it helped to have an army at your beck and call. But it didn’t end there; he stayed to oversee the turnover of leadership, the input of better safety regulations, and a reorganisation of the department that was supposed to enforce regulations. It took a while, but it had to be done. Left to their own devices, who was to say that the mines wouldn’t spring up again?

 

 

Clara wasn’t going to forget the sight of crowds of thin shaking men, women, and children, some incredibly young children, as they were coaxed out and Porridge talked to them, angry and sad. Most of them were too tired to react. Clara wanted to hug the children, to talk to them and read them stories and make sure that they got to sleep in actual beds. After a quick word with Porridge, she took a handful of soldiers and began talking with the local bureaucrats to make sure that the children got just that – good food, comfort, and safety. She didn’t hug them though, they shied away from everybody.

 

 

That night, she showered the dirt away, but not the memories. People on the world below couldn’t escape any of it so easily. She changed into soft comfortable nightwear, wrapped herself in the large deep-blue robe that Porridge had given her when he’d realised how much she felt cold, and wandered out of her room to one of the ship’s observation decks. It was where she often spent time when they were travelling.

 

 

This time, Porridge was already there. The bags under his eyes were really pronounced, the steam from the drink in his hand rising up to wreath his face, making him look somehow older and wiser. Like he was part of the planet below, something unknowable and great. Clara folded herself down next to him on the plush seating, glad to feel his warmth at her hip. There was the planet, big and brown with a sort of haze of meteor pieces around it. It was breath-taking, the size of it, so breath-taking that it couldn’t actually be real. But it was; Clara could still feel its grit under her fingernails.

 

 

“I forget sometimes,” she ventured softly. “That this isn’t just a holiday.”

 

 

She felt Porridge nod beside her. “It’s easy to forget. If I’d come back sooner, than maybe more people down there would have survived, and less would have suffered.”

 

 

It was a horrible thought that emptied out the bottom of Clara’s stomach. She didn’t have the words to answer it either. She placed a hand on his shoulder though and squeezed because wasn’t that both their faults? If she hadn’t wanted to travel and see so many places, maybe Porridge would have gotten here sooner. Maybe there was blood under her nails as well as grit.

 

 

“But now, they’ll have holidays, and that’s something,” Porridge continued quietly.

 

 

The steam was still rising from his mug. Clara managed a nod, something shaking apart deep inside of her, and leaned into his warmth.

 

 

*

 

 

Things happened that she’d never tell the Doctor about. There were two assassination attempts on Porridge’s life, the second one ensured that he needed emergency surgery and Clara refused to leave him while the medics prepared for the operation, her hands putting pressure on a wound that was giving out too much blood. Her breaths were shuddering and she was probably crying but she pressed harder and kept talking to him.

 

 

“You’ll do anything to get of a council meeting, won’t you?”

 

 

Porridge’s smile was faint and she held onto it until the medics took him away. Apparently surgery wouldn’t take long, not with the advancements that the medical profession wielded now. It still felt like too long to Clara. She sat on the observation deck, knees drawn up to her chin, arms and bloodied hands useless and slumped. Her thoughts were too fast, too much…

 

 

What if he died?

 

 

What if?

 

 

“Lady Clara, he’s recovering well. Given rest, he will be fit again for work in several days.”

 

 

“Can I…?”

 

 

“He sleeps now.”

 

 

Of course he did. Of course. Clara nodded and wiped away her tears. She retired to her room to wash her hands and take some deep breaths. Everybody else was so calm, maybe this often happened; Emperor of the Universe, a lot of people would want that power. But it didn’t happen in front of Clara.

 

 

She slept fitfully. When she got up, she still wasn’t allowed to see Porridge so she talked to the council, taking notes for Porridge as they discussed the fallout of the latest business figures and the political implications. Some things really never did change. Clara spoke up sometimes, and silently dared anyone to deny her that right. She still wore the gold commander’s badge. It meant something. The council didn’t all look happy, but they listened.

 

 

She met with them every day until Porridge was well enough to have visitors. He was sat up at a desk, checking something on a screen. It had been less than a week and apart from looking a little pale, he seemed the same as before the injury. Clara didn’t feel the same at all though, and Porridge seemed to get that as he looked at her carefully.

 

 

She managed a wobbly sort of smile. “This doesn’t look like rest to me.”

 

 

Porridge lifted a corner of shirt and revealed almost scarless skin. “I hear there’s no rest for the wicked.”

 

 

Clara grabbed a seat next to him and showed him the notes she’d taken over the past few days. She wanted to keep him in her eyeline, just for a while. Porridge was here, he was fine. He could have been killed, he could have bled out, he could have been something else that kept Clara awake at night.

 

 

Porridge touched her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. It didn’t say _I’ll always survive_ , but it did say _I’m here now_.

 

 

It occurred to her later that without Porridge, she might have a lot of trouble getting home again. When the Doctor arrived, he might be arrested for trespassing or invasion or worse. His TARDIS might be taken, for all its fascinating secrets. If something happened to Porridge, she might never get home.

 

 

It wasn’t a thought that pained her as much as it should.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Clara finished twisting her hair back. There was a long line of people needing food, she could help with that. Porridge was stood on a large crate, talking to one of the leadership pair in charge of the colony. Gloria stood at his side, manipulating the screen in her hand. Clara began filling up bottles with something green, which was apparently very nutritious. It smelled really good, citrusy and summery. She turned to the person next to her.

 

 

“Is it safe for me to drink?” she asked, the fact that she didn’t have another set of eyes and who knew what else coating the question.

 

 

The person gave her a quick nod which Clara returned with a smile. She’d try it later; right now there were people who needed it more, if the line for the doctors was any indication.

 

 

Several hours later, her arms sore and her head thumping, Clara helped divide up the leftovers, taking a couple of packages and bottles for herself. One of the others who'd been working beside her pressed a violet-coloured fruit into Clara’s hand with a brief smile and flutter of four eyelids.

 

 

“Thank you,” Clara offered with a smile, because if she couldn’t eat it, then she’d definitely find somebody who could.

 

 

She held up her armful of food to Porridge. “Dinner?”

 

 

Porridge nodded and lifted his gaze to the people that Clara had been working with. “Thank you, for your service and the gifts.” His gaze slipped back to Clara. “That's very good timing.”

 

 

He wrapped up his talk and allowed Gloria to make the call that teleported Porridge and Clara back up the ship. Clara just about kept hold of her armful, Porridge immediately stepping forward to lighten her load. Clara glanced around; they weren't in a room that she recognised. There were several large squishy-looking cushions on the floor and a long bench near one wall. The opposite wall was made up of a number of enormous screens that all displayed portraits. Clara squinted at a couple; they were portraits of Porridge's relatives? That one with the red hair definitely had his nose, and the one with blonde ringlets held herself in a very familiar way.

 

 

“Am I meeting your family?” she asked.

 

 

Porridge was unpacking his parcels on the bench. He cast an affectionate look towards the high-definition gallery before transferring the look to her. “It's the only way you can. These are the Emperors and Empresses who came before me, the Defenders of Humanity, the Imperators of Known Space.”

 

 

Their eyes followed Clara round the room. She smiled at them and thought about bobbing into some sort of curtsey, only she'd most likely drop her dinner and that was probably more of a faux-pas, wasn't it?

 

 

“They look very grand,” she decided aloud.

 

 

“They weren't all the time. Those are just their official likenesses,” Porridge gestured to a dark-haired man with a sweeping forehead and an outfit that looked like a black velvet dress. “Sreea the Fourth Glorious was my favourite Grandfather. He used to build amazing toy spaceships that flew better than anything the royal engineer corps created. He used to have oil all over his hands most of the time, it drove his husband mad.”

 

 

Clara's smile grew. She liked that, funny stories behind posh and proper photos, it made them seem like flesh and blood instead of imperious history. “So where's your official likeness then?”

 

 

Porridge grimaced but obligingly walked forward to press a button on one of the screens, changing its display. Clara laughed; there was Porridge, in the sort of suit she'd seen him wear before for extremely proper occasions. He wore no hat and no smile but his eyebrows were lifting in a way that suggested his general amusement at the whole idea. It was Porridge, just about, but it was mostly the Emperor.

 

 

“ _Very_ grand,” Clara declared.

 

 

“Mmm, I remember thinking how nice it was to have some time virtually to myself,” Porridge replied, changing the display picture back to one of his ancestors. “It was quite relaxing really.”

 

 

“Like this room.” Clara glanced up at the vaulted ceiling and the star systems flickering across it. “It's...it's something different from everywhere else on the ship.”

 

 

Porridge smiled and gestured for her to pull up a cushion as he plumped himself down and reached for a little ceramic jar of something gloopy and orange. “People think I come here to gather wisdom from our previous leaders. Really, it's just good to spend some time alone.”

 

 

“And with the family,” Clara guessed softly, having spotted how his gaze kept going back to the screens.

 

 

Porridge's eyes met hers, telling her a thousand different stories, his mouth smiling just enough to make her smile back. “And with the family.”

 

 

Clara bit her lip, thinking about a leaf pressed in a book and fresh flowers regularly left at a gravesite. Yeah, she got that. She grabbed the green drink that had caught her attention hours before – it tasted as citrusy as it smelled and was amazingly refreshing after the long afternoon she'd had. Porridge took the offered bottle with a nod that said he understood what she hadn't vocalised. His hand on her arm was gentle.

 

 

It turned out that the thick orange mixture tasted like runny cheese and could be spread on unwound bread rolls. There were waffles stuck together with an extra-sticky sweet form of syrup and meat sticks like mealy sausages which tasted really good with the waffles. It was a picnic, Clara realised with a quiet laugh, she was having a picnic with an Emperor on a spaceship.

 

 

And there was literally nowhere else she'd rather be.

 

 

*

 

 

The next day, there was a message on her phone - _It's been three months._ A smile flickered across Clara's face, was the Doctor whining? It was the closest he'd get to saying _I miss you_ , and it was enough to make Clara's smile solidify. She was still smiling when Porridge spoke.

 

 

“I didn't know breakfast could be that amusing.”

 

 

Clara started and laughed, reaching for her abandoned fork – they were having eggs with blue shells for the first time after a delivery and they tasted really good. She took a last look at the message before tucking her phone away.

 

 

“Breakfast is delicious. The text message was amusing. I think the Doctor's getting lonely, and whiny.”

 

 

Porridge smiled in return, before his gaze dropped to his spicy breakfast drink, his fingers deliberate in their movement against the mug. It made Clara immediately pay attention.

 

 

“What?”

 

 

“Hmm?”

 

 

Clara scooped up more breakfast, raising an eyebrow. “You're thinking about something serious and about whether to share it with me or not. My vote's on sharing.”

 

 

Porridge's smile quirked a little before wilting again. It made Clara chew a lot slower and even put down her fork. “Porridge?”

 

 

“You've been here for three months, Clara. The children will be missing you too.”

 

 

That was a good point, so why did Clara's heart feel like it was dropping? She loved the kids; she was looking forward to seeing them again. She wasn't looking forward to saying goodbye to Porridge though.

 

 

“I miss them,” she said quietly, her hand reaching to touch his gently. “But I'm going to miss you too.”

 

 

Porridge wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed gently. He didn't say _I don't want you to go_ , because he wasn't that kind of Emperor, but it was clear in his expression anyway. Clara took a deep breath and decided to attempt to finish her breakfast one-handed. She wanted to remember Porridge's touch, his gentleness and wisdom, his smile. She wanted to remember everything.

 

 

She didn't want to leave, but she had promises to keep, and...well, she couldn't stay forever. She couldn't.

 

 

The rest of breakfast was silent, and their hands stayed joined.

 

 

*

 

 

_Are you bored, by any chance?_

 

 

_Bored? No, why, are you? There's a garden on a planet in the Cherria Nebula that's said to…_

 

 

And he was off. Clara shook her head, as message after message popped into her inbox, rolling with the Doctor’s enthusiasm. A familiar excitement was starting to tingle inside of her, all those different places to go and people to meet and all that running. She had missed it, just a little bit.

 

 

_Not bored. Hope the space taxi’s ready._

 

 

She forced herself into her room – _her_ room – and changed back into the clothes she’d worn when she’d first met Porridge before packing up everything else up. For a moment or two, her reflection looked wrong. It wasn’t who she’d been for the past three months. Clara tried shrugging her shoulders, shuffling on the spot as though getting used to this version of herself again. She could sort of recognise herself now but it was like looking at childhood photographs; it wasn't who she was anymore.

 

 

“Pull yourself together,” she told herself. “You are _not_ Queen of the Universe.”

 

 

At the last syllable, she remembered the camera and squeezed her eyes shut. Great. She sent a grimace towards the all-seeing bauble and a little wave before grabbing her bag and heading out the door. She breathed in the room one last time, hoping that she’d memorised it well enough.

 

 

Porridge waited for her in the gallery room, it was as private as the ship got and since a lot of people would no doubt be interested in the TARDIS, privacy was pretty important. Of course, if anyone asked, the privacy was for their goodbye and the TARDIS was just a spaceship with an old-fashioned look, to match its pilot.

 

 

“Well…” Clara trailed off, feeling bitty and raw. “God, ‘thank you’ seems too small but it’s all I can think of.”

 

 

Porridge’s smile was a precious thing as he walked close enough to grasp her hands. “It sounds just right to me, because all I can think of is thank _you_ , Clara, for making this place seem a bit less empty.”

 

 

Clara could feel tears in her eyes and raised a hand to wipe them away, self-deprecating laughter tumbling out. “This was all so much _more_ than I was expecting, does that make sense?”

 

 

“There’s a lot more out there in the universe than we really think about, you reminded me of that.”

 

 

The look on his face made a familiar feeling shake apart inside Clara and she took a determined breath, not wanting to have one of those moments where it all felt so final. She’d had too many of them in her life already.

 

 

“I really don’t want this to be goodbye.”

 

 

Porridge squeezed her hand. “Then it won’t be.”

 

 

Clara cracked a smile. “Just like that?”

 

 

“Oh yes, I can make things happen. There’s got to be _some_ perks to this job.”

 

 

Clara grinned and squeezed his hand in return. She leaned down before she could think too hard about it and brushed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She felt his intake of breath and his cheek against hers as she lingered a moment before pulling back. They shared a few seconds of just staring, fingers still interlocked. Clara was going to miss that most of all, his hand in hers.

 

 

Then with a deep breath, she used her free hand to text the Doctor.

 

 

_Space taxi for one please._

 

 

There was more-than-a-chance that the Doctor wouldn’t land in the gallery, so Porridge put a call in to Gloria just in case and then they stood there, facing each other, hands still linked, drinking each other in.

 

 

This wasn’t going to be goodbye, Clara knew that with a certainty that squeezed her chest tight and made her jaw tense.

 

 

There was a sudden gust of wind and a noise like grinding gears and howling and then coalescing at the end of the room, right in front of Porridge’s paternal great-grandmother, was the TARDIS. Clara's heartbeat pounded. Even if the ship didn’t like her, it had shown up at the right place and time, and she had missed it.

 

 

Porridge’s fingers slipped from her grasp as the howls died away and the door opened and there was the Doctor, stepping out in tweed and a bow-tie, why did he think that was a good look again? It was like he’d been raiding charity shops, or some dusty old professor’s wardrobe.

 

 

She couldn’t help smiling though, as he swooped her up into a hug with a shout.

 

 

“Clara Oswald! Look at you, all…you.”

 

 

Clara grinned against his shoulder before letting go. “You're getting better at keeping appointments, taxi man.”

 

 

“Sssh! No, no, she’s not a taxi!”

 

 

The Doctor actually stroked the TARDIS’s door, causing Clara and Porridge to exchange a look. Clara’s heart panged again.

 

 

“Porridge! Emperor Ludens Nimrod…yes, hello, how’s the empire?” the Doctor strode over to shake Porridge’s hand.

 

 

“Oh, I’d say in decent shape, wouldn’t you, Lady Clara?”

 

 

He turned to Clara as he spoke, with a look on his face that made her waggle her eyebrows at the Doctor. “Oh, I’d say so, Your Majesty. Very good shape.”

 

 

The Doctor looked from one to the other, a hand raised as though trying to grasp something. “You’re very…”

 

 

“What?” asked Clara, innocent and pleased and taunting all at the same time, the Doctor hated not knowing something and it had been so long since she’d teased him.

 

 

“Organised. You haven’t made her Queen of the Universe, have you?” he asked Porridge, quiet and slightly worried.

 

 

Porridge cast a glance towards Clara that made her smile softly before he answered. “I really think you should ask her that, Doctor.”

 

 

The Doctor spun around to face Clara who made herself purposefully blank-faced. “Clare, you haven’t…?”

 

 

Clara raised her eyebrows imperiously. “Not yet.”

 

 

“Yet?!”

 

 

As the Doctor yelped, Clara turned to Porridge and sharply saluted him, her smile trembling only slightly at the corners. The way she was angled, only Porridge could actually see her face and his expression was sad too. They both lifted their chins.

 

 

This was it. Clara had already said goodbye to the council, who hadn't seemed completely relieved that she was leaving. Clara was counting that as a win. She'd told Gloria to take care of Porridge. She'd said her goodbyes, this was just a formality. All that mattered had been said already.

 

 

“Emperor Ludens Nimrod Kendrick Cord Longstaff the 41st, Defender of Humanity, Imperator of Known Space,” she rattled off neatly, a proud smile on her face.

 

 

Porridge nodded, equal pride in his expression. “Lady Clara. Don't forget, I _will_ make things happen.”

 

 

Clara's smile felt like it was taking over her face. “I'll hold you to that.”

 

 

They held each other's gazes for a moment more, then Clara abruptly tore herself away, like ripping off a plaster. She grabbed her bag and headed for the TARDIS. She made sure not to look back. It was only once she was inside the control room that the Doctor's footsteps clattered behind her. Clara kept her focus on the pale light of the central console and the familiar smell of dust and fire.

 

 

“Hmm, it looks like everything's still in one piece...”

 

 

“Well, of course it is! Mainly. Wait, hold on.” The Doctor crowded closer, peering into her face. Clara stood her ground. “What have you promised him?”

 

 

Clara looked at him steadily for a couple of seconds. “That this isn't goodbye.”

 

 

Her expression dared him to argue, but he didn't, he just looked back, infinitely sad and something else. Clara wasn't going to get dragged down into that again so she swallowed and walked out of the control room towards her bedroom. She really hoped that the corridors weren't moving again, when the TARDIS was being a particularly stroppy cow, it took Clara hours to find whatever room she was looking for.

 

 

There was a rumble under her feet – the engines were firing up. They were leaving. She paused, closing her eyes for a second, and wondered if Porridge was still there in the gallery, watching as the blue box faded from sight, leaving him alone with memories of his family, leaving him alone.

 

 

Clara pushed onwards. The next door around the corner was her room, exactly as she'd left it, bed unmade and an empty glass on its side thanks to her rushed morning. She dropped her bag onto the bed and half-heartedly unzipped it. The clothes that spilled out made her lips lift. She hung the clothes up carefully, like a statement among all her other garments.

 

 

There was something rolling around in the bottom of the bag. Clara lifted out the violet-coloured fruit that she'd been given after helping out that food line. She'd forgotten all about it. She held it up in front of her face, it smelled like the planet they'd visited. Clara looked at it for a minute, a thousand memories storming through her, bringing a lump to her throat, before resolutely placing it on her bedside chest of drawers. She'd give it to Porridge the next time she saw him.

 

 

A familiar buzz of determination ran through her, her hand flexing as she remember his grip on it. She was going to do this. She glanced in the nearby mirror, at her hands, at the marks on them now, at the gold badge still pinned to her top. She _was_ going to see Porridge again. She could make things happen too, she knew a man with a space taxi.

 

 

_-the end_


End file.
